


Long Legged Guitar Picking Man

by Adry1412



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Country Music, Country singer!rick, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Song fic, aesthetic fic, bottom!daryl, fan!daryl, top!rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6463402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adry1412/pseuds/Adry1412
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick is a country singer and Daryl is smitten with him. An analyze of country music and what it means to spend your life following your dream in the back of a pick up truck with your boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Legged Guitar Picking Man

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa! Another song fic! Never done that before!  
> Based on the song "Long Legged Guitar Picking Man" by Johnny and June Cash and filled with references to other nice country songs. :)  
> Big thank you to Brianna for being an absolute sweetheart and always pre-reading my shit haha! And too Skari for sharing my love of country music and being super supportive of my fics!!

There's a few different types of country music. The kind by the lake, with cowboy hats and that sweet, pleasant taste in your tongue. The one that lifts your beer and makes you want to dive in.  
Then there's the kind in a small room made to look big with its elevated stage and pink lights blurring the edges around everything you can see. The singer sings alone, bathed in orange and pink lights while the music comes from behind him by the curtain. It reminds you of old tv shows on your old wood paneled set and the people in the audience look out of date and old, like they shouldn't be there. They don't seem to enjoy it, all sitting calmly and barely clapping.  
There's the kind of songs you hear late at night while driving home. The sky is dark and blurring past you as the fuzzy guitar is plucked with the static voice humming over it. It's distant, the station somewhere far from any place you could ever go too. You'll never hear it correctly but it soothes you, makes the lights blur and your eyes feel heavy as you keep them open. There's no jockey and no way of finding out the song, not that you'll ever hear it again. It's when the radio lapses into another world and the songs falling out don't match with the ones you're used too. It's peaceful and makes your mind wander to dangerous places just beyond the guardrail.   
Then there's the kind in the smoke filled bar with the gangly man on stage, gently strumming his worn guitar. The song makes your heart ache for something you've never had. It makes tears fall for a love you never had, a life you never lived, a pain from the past dug deep into your soul by the shaky voiced young man just trying to get a free beer and a place to stay the night.  
Then there are the songs you listen to on your bed, cigarette smoke circling and burning your tear filled eyes. You watch the ceiling fan spin in the orange glow from the sunset and feel the stillness this unearthly moment holds. You're heart is heavy and you're chest aches with the pain the songs bring. You may not related but God does it makes you swallow that lump and whisper along to the words, trying to hold back the tears.

And Daryl swore that Rick could sing all of them.  
So he sits in the hard chair, his beer sweating onto dark, wooden table creating rings of dew, waiting for Rick to take the stage. The cigarette smoke hangs in the air, giving the dark room a misty look catching the orange, dim lights from the stage. Rick walks out, guitar hanging around his neck, all long, bow legs and bright blue eyes. He scans the room, pink lips turned in a smirk behind his five o'clock shadow when he sees his lover.  
Behind the chain fence protecting the stage, he starts to strum with his talented fingers, the soft music spilling toward the diamond holes and out into the noisy room full of truckers, loose women, and Daryl.  
The stage light catches his Bombay sapphire blue eyes and the dark bags that surround them, evidence of the long drives him and Daryl take to get to the venues.  
They're a long way from Georgia, somewhere deep in the mountains of West Virginia in a run down trucker's stop bar. Song after song brings a different feeling to Daryl's heart, some making him whistle and others bringing the memories of the song's past back from the dead.  
He's heard all the stories, wrapped in a plush blanket on the back of the rusted pick up they called home. He remembers Rick's calloused fingers running over his sides and his drawled words lulling him to sleep. He remembers further back, when he'd first meet the long legged, guitar picking man. When he had been drinking away the day and that rough, southern voice had pierced his thoughts and pulled his eyes towards the stage.

The songs had torn Daryl's heart out, made him weep for things he never had, made him hate the man who never cheated and ignited a flame for the lover he never had. He had cheered the loudest, making the singer peek from under his hat and smile wide towards his dark haired fan.  
They shared a beer and a bed and Daryl never quested when Rick asked him to come with him on the road. A bag of clothes, $75, a handful of CDs, and a bottle of whiskey was all Daryl had to his name and it was more than Rick needed or wanted.

So here they were. A year and a half later, a thousand miles from where Daryl had called home, playing for a couple beers and some money for gas and a meal or two. Nights spent in a truck, in the arms of his lover, didn't compare to the lonely bed Daryl had left behind. A soft hum in his ears didn't compare to the CDs they'd put in to just ignore the endless turning of squeaky wheels.  
The crickets outside calm him when he steps out for air and a smoke. The inky Appalachian sky turns above him, stars shining bright, drawing constellations above his head. There's a certain peace that comes with this time of night, one that Rick claims means the line between this world and the next is thin. Where the souls of those before and after can all take a breath before settling in and let their bones rest.  
Daryl's inclined to believe him, the way the wind dies down bringing the dark shadow of the trees and the piercing night sky together. It should surround him, bring his chest in tight and make his head spin in fear and closeness, but it doesn't. It lets him breath out, smoke falling from his lips, as he waits for his lover to collect their money, take a few beers and wrapped meals, and waltz out, those full pink lips pulled up at the ends in a ghost of a smile.

And soon enough they're parked by a field, a long forgotten 'no trespassing' sign swinging lazily on its last hinge. With their bellies full and heads spinning slightly with the beer, they lay on the truck's bed, sharing soft touches and chaste kisses under the dingy blanket. Chilly, late summer breeze tickle their faces, making Daryl's nose twitch. Legs pressed closer together, arms wrapping around waists and necks.  
Rick hums in his ears, a tune he's sure he's never heard before. It's soft but with lilt that pulls his eyes open and head up towards his lover. His head swims, trying to think of where he's heard the soft rhythm before but comes up with nothing. "What song is that?"  
His laugh is quiet, barely there, and Daryl would've missed it had it not been for their chests pressed close. "It's something I'm working on."  
And Rick would be damned if any of those goddamn stars held a light to the way his quiet lover's eyes shined. "What's it about?"  
"You."  
"Oh."  
The crickets chirp away and a toad sings in the distance as Rick pulls his young lover closer, laying flat on his back. With Daryl's head on his chest, arm wrapped tight around his flannel covered waist, he thinks. His mind wanders and he watches the moon, and the hazy circle of light surrounding it, and he sings. The words are hushed, barely a whisper, but they're loud enough for Daryl to hear.  
Everything is silent. The night bringing nothing with it but that certain kind of peace that calms Daryl's nerves and soothes Rick's racing mind. He lets the words spill out and towards the hole punched sky, the dark black of the night and whatever things it holds don't bother him. Not when Daryl kisses him, silencing his song with skillful lips and teary eyes.  
It's slow, it's always slow and soft. Rick reads his fan's body, the little swears and moans sound better than any song he could ever listen too. The earthy, addictive taste of his milky neck making every beer taste like shit. The fingers that not 2 hours ago made his lover cry, plucking and strumming on the guitar that could barely stay in tune, now make Daryl arch and plead for more. Heated kisses are cooled by the night air, clothing removed by teasing, curious hands. It's a sinful song, written by black skies and white stars, stealing color from everything around them for miles.   
The blanket tugged higher over his shoulders and he enters the man under him, hair plastered on their flat pillows, pale skin glowing in the dark, almost blue with the tinted light the moon drops into them. He's tight, he's always tight and so goddamn hot. The demons are quiet, not daring to make a peep and the angels shield their holy eyes when Rick tests the water, giving a slow, shallow thrust, making his lover arch and beg silently. He's told Daryl before that they're not alone. That other beings will follow the songs he sings and will wrap the lovers in the stilling peace that only the night can bring. They move together, building and building, the crickets silent and the toad having probably gone home.  
But Rick isn't envious. He left his home years ago, nothing but his guitar, his truck, and his dream. He's found a new home, buried deep inside of the north Georgian man. They explode together, tiny fireworks behind their eyelids while their foreheads rest together, breaths uneven and deep. Hands are linked as tight as the metal wire of the bars and stages Rick sings behind and their hearts beating in the same harmony their voice do when the radio plays a song they recognize from their past lives.

So they lay, sweat cooling and smoke disappearing above their heads as Rick hums, running his fingers through Daryl's hair. There's no ceiling fan spinning or dizzying pink lights blurring their edges, no dark, alcohol soaked rooms full of strangers, no clear blue waters tickling their toes. There's nothing except the Appalachian mountains rising and falling around them and Rick's chests rumbling with words of adoration and whispered prayers for a future when sleep comes on a shared bed and his songs tumbling from their dashboard.  
So the sun will rise, bringing shades of blue and purples, turning tires, and another town with it. And when their hands meet, fingers wrapping around each other tightly, Rick can't help but smile as his love song gains a new wind in its chest and it comes crashing out his mouth at the next bar they pull up too.


End file.
